


Chapter VII

by rhicola



Series: See You In Hindsight [8]
Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3366572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhicola/pseuds/rhicola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Beth picked a different cell on the first floor from last time — the one second farthest away from the back. She pulled her bags on to the lower bunk to start unpacking, and the first things she came to were her two journals. One filled with the past, and the other filled with her worries for the future. She tucked away the old one underneath her mattress and placed the mostly empty one on her side table. But when Carl started to pass hers, she stopped him.</p>
<p>“Hey, that cell is taken,” she called out, putting away the last of her things.</p>
<p>Carl rounded the corner and hung from the outer wall of her cell coolly. “There’s nothing in it.”</p>
<p>“Well Daryl told me he wanted that one. You can take it up with him.”</p>
<p>The young man stood tall, faltered a little, and cleared his throat. “No, no, that’s okay. What about this one?” He pointed to the cell on the right.</p>
<p>A hand came up from behind Carl, and clasped his shoulder. “Son, I think your mom wants you next to her, over that way,” he pointed with his free hand toward the entrance of the cellblock. Lori could be seen leaning out of her cell and waving. </p>
<p>Carl sneaked a last glance at the blonde, before skulking away.</p></blockquote>





	Chapter VII

Daryl Dixon had been appointed the group’s hunter ever since the farm was overrun by walkers. Just like he had been in the original group before they were forced out, too. He had a skill for it, having grown up fending for himself for what seemed like his entire childhood. Hunting came naturally to him, the same way that nurturing came to mothers—you know, the ones not intoxicated 90 percent of their waking lives. But no matter how naturally tracking and shooting down animals was for him, he wasn’t always successful. In the beginning, his neck bore a string of squirrels every morning and his arms a deer every few weeks. But it was late in the season now and only deer were stupid enough to come out in the cold, which of course didn’t mean he’d get one.

Early mornings became routine to him. He’d wake well before dawn, bundle up, and head out to his makeshift perch hidden in a tree. From there, he could see a mile or so out through bare trees that camouflaged brown animals well. His weapons sat beside him, as silent as he was. At the start of the season, he carried his crossbow and a pellet gun they’d found in the safe, but now he carried just his crossbow.

The thing that Daryl liked most about hunting was the tranquility. It was peacefully quiet out in the woods, which left room for his thoughts to cycle. It was refreshing. When he spent the morning thinking, he spent the night sleeping.

He’d started training Beth a few days after their run, but up until then, she had kept to herself. Women never made sense to Daryl, and Beth was definitely included in that observation. The night before their run had gone so well that he thought he was finally able to call the girl his friend. They had a relationship like none that he had with others in the group. A simple glance from Beth told him so much. And that bubbly feeling in his gut he’d woken up with in the field was still present. If anything, it’d gotten stronger and made him lightheaded when she smiled at him.

Yet she closed herself off, putting him in the dog house without him really understanding why. Her words echoed in his mind as he sat in his tree, eyes peeled and ears piqued for any hint of movement. _I wrote that song you were singing_. What did it mean? Had the girl actually written it? Daryl still had no idea where he’d heard it before and his only memory of it now was when Beth sang it in the aisle at Walmart. It puzzled him, but he was afraid to bring it up to her, afraid to be met with those accusing eyes again. Did she think he read it in her journal or something? How the hell would he know the tune?

The entire thing baffled him, but he was happy, relieved really, to see that she’d let it go and asked him to start training.

“I ain’t gonna lie,” he started as he and Beth went out the back door to enter the course he’d set up earlier that morning, “I ain’t used a compound bow in years.”

Beth nodded and Daryl watched her take in the various targets he’d constructed. A few were nailed to trees, and others nailed to pillowcases filled with garbage. He’d even set up a dead walker he’d found in the woods for target practice, that one being the smallest target he’d made.

He held out his hand for the bow, attached the release to his right wrist, and then toyed with the bow for a minute. “Never dry fire,” he muttered, and then looked up at Beth. “Don’t draw back fully and release without an arrow. String’ll snap you in the face and it don’t feel good.”

Holding up the bow so that she could follow along, he pointed at each part she needed to know and understand. “Arrow clicks in here, between the knots. The loop attaches to the release. Arrow sits in its rest.” Before moving on, he loaded an arrow and slipped his hand through the strap by the handle. “Keeps it from rocking when you draw back and fire."

Daryl attached the release to the loop and drew back, lining his fingers up under his cheekbone, his point. “Left hand loose. If you grip the bow, you’ll snap the string.” He inhaled deeply, aimed at the walker’s head, and pressed the trigger on his exhale, holding still for a moment before bringing the bow down to look at his shot. The arrow stuck out of the walker’s head, which lolled to the side now from the force.

“Easier than it seems,” he commented, passing the bow and the release off to the girl. “The step-by-step thing makes sense once you do it.”

“Like firing a gun,” Beth mused, remembering how technical it seemed when Rick had explained it to the beginners. The loading and the safety and the cocking and the aiming and the shooting. It all became easy after a few rounds.

Daryl nodded once and handed her an arrow. He stepped up behind her, gripped her shoulders, and turned her toward one of the targets on a tree trunk. “You’ll want to pick a point to draw to each and every time you pull back,” he added, lifting a finger to her right cheek and stroking just beneath her cheekbone. “Right here. Draw back to there, string straight, left arm straight, left hand loose on full draw. Aim, release.”

He watched as Beth loaded the arrow, attached the release, and secured the strap by the handle, which she held tightly as she drew the arrow back. She struggled a little, not used to the tension of the string, and relaxed without fully pulling it back. “Relax completely,” Daryl instructed before she could pull back again, his hands instinctively grasping her wrists gently to stop her. “The string can derail if you redraw without releasing completely.”

“I got it, Daryl,” she argued, pulling her arms out of his grip. She rolled her shoulders back, pulled hard on the string, breathed like he had, and let her finger graze the trigger, releasing the arrow. Like he had done, she paused for a second before dropping the bow. Her arrow missed the target and struck another tree trunk off to the side. “Screw it.”

Daryl reacted quickly by walking around to face her. He held another arrow out with a smile. “Can’t be tense, Beth,” he advised quietly. Behind her, he noticed her father standing in their bedroom window watching their training. “Y’know when you play piano?” he began again, shifting his gaze from the window to her as he spoke. “And the keys start to feel like they’re a part of you? Like your fingers know where to go, which ones to hit, before you do?”

Beth nodded slowly, obviously calming down as he brought music into this, something she understood more than archery. Her furrowed brow softened and she sighed as if she was holding her breath. “Okay. So, trust the bow? Trust my hands?” she asked, finally taking the arrow from him and receiving a nod in response.

She reloaded, shook out her nerves, drew back on the arrow, and released, her arrow striking the target this time.

~*~*~*~

Daryl startled awake as Beth shook his shoulder. It was early morning, before the sun had risen above the horizon and shone through the living room window, and he had been in a deep sleep. The remnants of his dream still lingered in his thoughts as he sat up quickly and pushed himself away from Beth, resting finally at the other end of the couch where he caught his breath. His chest still ached like his heart had been crushed to pieces and his hands shook as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, expelling the images from his mind. “Holy shit,” he mumbled under his breath, his delirium finally fading as he realized where he was and who had woke him.

“Sorry, Daryl,” Beth whispered, concern woven in her words as she moved closer to him and took a seat on the couch. “You okay? I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he replied, his fingertips still massaging the sleep from his face. In truth, he was exhausted and felt as if he’d been hit by a van. Did he even get any amount of sleep? “Just gimme a minute.”

After seven weeks of training, Daryl decided that Beth was getting a good hand on archery. She’d always been exceptional, but the second he’d added in moving targets, her timing and aim were off, which depleted her confidence about the whole thing. But she was doing well, better than he ever thought she’d be doing; and so after their last training session, he invited her to go hunting with him the following morning.

Finally fully awake and relaxed after the nightmare he had, Daryl stretched up his arms and extended his legs, cracking his ankles as he yawned. He was definitely a morning person. There was something about the stillness, the crisp freshness of dawn breaking that made him the happiest.

Daryl got to his feet and held a hand out to help Beth up from the couch, which started to sink in under the weight of his slumber the past few months. “Just gotta get dressed,” he began quietly, “got gear picked out downstairs. Lunch packed on the kitchen table.” He reached up and straightened his growing hair, patting it down where it stuck up awkwardly. “Then we can get goin’. Wanna be out before the sun’s up.”

Tiptoeing around the couch, he led Beth downstairs where he’d picked out a tree-patterned outfit for her to wear. His own was in a pile on the floor where he’d left it the other day. “Shirt’s a medium,” he explained, holding it up to her before handing it over. “A little big, but the pants should be better. Youngest kid was about your size.”

He offered her a smile, which she returned as she held the two articles of clothing in her hands. “Thanks, Daryl.”

With a nod, Daryl turned on his toe and headed for his pile of clothes. As he walked, he pulled off his long-sleeved shirt and let it drop to the floor next to the forest green shirt he then picked up. He faced the wall, giving Beth privacy as he pulled on the shirt and slipped out of his sweatpants, only to replace them with the concealing cargo pants he liked to wear. Bending over, he stepped into his boots, laced them up, and adjusted his pantlegs over them.

“Okay,” he heard Beth’s soft voice behind him, signaling that she was decent. He spun around and gave the girl a smile. He’d done well with sizing and she looked damn cute in her getup.

A little dumbstruck for a few moments, Daryl shook his thoughts away and got down to business as he slipped arrows into his quiver. “Patience,” he began, handing some arrows to Beth, “you need patience to hunt. They have t’come to you.”

Beth nodded along as he went through his spiel about being quiet and still, but always ready to shoot. All of it was common sense, but he wanted to reiterate it before going out, just so she knew what to expect. “My stand ain’t too far into the woods, just gotta get there.”

~*~*~*~

Daryl hadn't realized how small his perch was until Beth was sat next to him on it, taking the spot where he'd usually sit his crossbow. He liked it, though, the close proximity. Although, he could tell that Beth was feeling a bit cramped in the small space. She was rigid, as if trying not to relax against him while he wanted her to so desperately.

They'd made it out before sunrise, which was his goal; and just as the rays filtered through the trees ahead of them, he began to focus more on spotting deer than on the girl beside him. After all, this was about feeding their group. As they waited patiently and the sun rose further into the sky, he couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering back to Beth. And back to the song. The words played over and over in his head, that one line he knew, and what she'd said. "So, that song," Daryl whispered, barely audible over the morning birds. "You wrote it?"

Beth jumped a little as he broke the silence of the beautiful sunrise. Her skin produced goosebumps at his words. "Yeah, I did. A while ago." Beth cleared her throat, unable to meet his eyes. "I've never sang it for anyone . . ."

He nodded his head slowly, accepting it no matter how weird and…well, extraordinary it was for him to have known a song she’d written. One she’d never sung or showed to anyone. He turned toward her a little, their shoulders brushing as he looked at her, his face complacent in thought. “I knew the tune an’ all,” he went on, somewhat triumphantly. A smile appeared on his lips then and he bumped their shoulders once more. “Maybe we’re telepathic or somethin’.”

Giggling, Beth rolled her eyes and pinched his side. "Yeah! That makes the most sense, right?" She was laughing, having fun spending time with him, but she still questioned how he knew the song, even the tune of the song. It made her wonder if he did remember, if some part of him felt the connection between them, and he was so nice to her, because somewhere deep down he remembered all the nights spent together alone. But even if he did, he would never admit it, and neither would she. So she kept the spark in her eye as she chuckled next to him and fixed her eyes on the field.

Daryl liked the sound of Beth’s laughter and the way her eyes lit up when she smiled at him. It brought a cheeky grin out of him that he hadn’t shown since he was a kid. Again, he felt a strong connection to Beth as she pinched his side and he jolted because it tickled. Like she knew that it would, like she’d done it plenty of times before just to taunt him. But that feeling faded quickly as she broke their gaze and focused back on their hunt. He couldn’t concentrate, though. His entire mind was wrapped around Beth now, and even as he strained his old and tired eyes to see through trees, he found himself glancing at her every few seconds. “Hope we get something today,” he whispered.

"We will," Beth said firmly, letting the echoes of birds fill their silence for a moment. "We will," she repeated, as if speaking the sentiment over and over again would produce an animal from the trees.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, she couldn't tell how long, but the sight of his back kept fighting their way into her thoughts. "So, your back," Beth started, mirroring the words he'd used earlier. "I was-uhm-are you okay?" Her doe eyes turned to him, and while he didn't meet hers, she brought her hand to his.

Daryl’s heart seemed to stop for a moment as Beth brought up his scars. He hadn’t realized she’d seen them because he was always so careful about it, not liking the confrontation that usually followed. _When had it happened?_ He thought back and figured it out quickly. She must have been looking when he changed earlier that morning, a split second glimpse of his past before he covered it up with another shirt, burying it away again. Her hand felt warm against his skin… _her fingers interlaced with his and gripped tightly_. He shook the memory away and looked up at her.

“It’s fine, I’m…fine,” he replied, lifting his shoulders in a shrug as his brick wall built itself between them on his tiny stand. He let go of his crossbow, which sat between his knees, and closed his hands around hers, grasping it gently.

Her eyes dropped down to their hands, so innocent, yet so intimate. Beth wanted nothing more than to straddle him and wrap her whole body around his, envelop him in the love he deserved. She was still shocked from the sight of his scarred back—no matter how many times she’d seen it—horrified that someone was able to abuse Daryl Dixon in such a way. A hard exterior melted into a soft and warm center, and she was slightly nauseated at the images in her mind of a young Daryl being beaten so viciously.

Beth was trying to find words to comfort him, but words weren't his forte, and even though she could have a way with them, spending those months with Daryl before had shown her that actions meant more than words, even when they were beautiful. The blonde looked over at him, still wanting to hug him, but deciding to just snuggle her face into his shoulder; a hug without moving their hands. "You deserve so much better than that, Daryl," Beth spoke quietly. "I hope you know if you ever did want to talk about it, I'm here."

As the weight of her head sank onto his shoulder, Daryl felt the brick wall crumble slightly; like Beth was forcing herself through it and instead of strengthening the weak spots, he allowed it to happen. He wanted to say something, acknowledge her words and support, but he didn’t know how. He only knew that he’d buried his past and wouldn’t want to talk about it, didn’t _need_ to talk about it.

Instead of trying to form a whispered sentence, he rubbed his thumbs against the backs of Beth’s silky hands and turned toward her to kiss the top of her head. But he stopped short as he spotted a deer to Beth’s left, sniffing the ground as it stepped forward and weaved in and out of the trees. “Beth,” Daryl whispered to get her attention, and then pointed silently in the direction of the doe.

When Beth turned to look, a fawn appeared, quietly trying to keep up with its mother. Daryl knew by the way it was limping that it was hurt, but from this distance, he couldn’t determine the injury. “Doe, aim for the chest behind the leg, like I taught ya,” he instructed before shifting out of her way as she stood and pulled back on her arrow.

The girl aimed and held still for a moment, the arrow drawn back fully and her arm not wavering under the tension of the string. She waited, breathing easily as the doe bent low and nibbled at a blade of grass, and Daryl watched as she lightly pressed the trigger on her release and a clear _thunk_ was heard seconds later. The deer sprang forward, galloping in and out of sight as she navigated the forest and left her fawn behind. “Dammit,” Beth whispered, unaware that the deer had fallen a few yards away.

“You’re good,” Daryl encouraged. He lifted his crossbow and shot the fawn down next as she tried to escape the danger. “She’s down.”

Slinging his bow over his shoulder, Daryl packed up his lunch, gripped the side of his stand, and hopped down like he’d done countless times before. He reached up to assist Beth and once she regained balance, they started toward their kills.

The two found the fawn first, since it was the closest. It had dropped over almost immediately after taking an arrow to the stomach, which Daryl removed gently. The fawn’s legs weren’t broken to his surprise, but upon turning it over, he found its injury: a walker bite. The meat was torn to the bone and necrotic around the edges as the infection spread. “S’no good,” Daryl muttered, a little disappointed in not having the extra bit of meat for their group. Every little parcel counted nowadays.

“We’re burying her,” Beth stated, stooping down next to him. “We’re already gonna eat the mom, we might as well do something nice.” The girl started to reach forward to scoop the deer up in her arms, but Daryl stopped her by grabbing her hands gently.

“Wait.” He glanced around for a moment in search of a shroud, but settled for his shirt, which he tugged over his head and wrapped around the deer, concealing the wound. “Don’t want ya all messy.”

He lifted the deer up and straightened, passing the bundle off to Beth before tracking down the doe, which they found deeper in the woods. After checking for bites, Daryl removed the arrow, held her feet together, and hoisted her up over his shoulders before standing up straight again, the weight of the deer making him teeter a bit. He shifted the deer closer to his neck and then nodded once, ready to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Beth picked a different cell on the first floor from last time — the one second farthest away from the back. She pulled her bags on to the lower bunk to start unpacking, and the first things she came to were her two journals. One filled with the past, and the other filled with her worries for the future. She tucked away the old one underneath her mattress and placed the mostly empty one on her side table. But when Carl started to pass hers, she stopped him.
> 
> “Hey, that cell is taken,” she called out, putting away the last of her things.
> 
> Carl rounded the corner and hung from the outer wall of her cell coolly. “There’s nothing in it.”
> 
> “Well Daryl told me he wanted that one. You can take it up with him.”
> 
> The young man stood tall, faltered a little, and cleared his throat. “No, no, that’s okay. What about this one?” He pointed to the cell on the right.
> 
> A hand came up from behind Carl, and clasped his shoulder. “Son, I think your mom wants you next to her, over that way,” he pointed with his free hand toward the entrance of the cellblock. Lori could be seen leaning out of her cell and waving. 
> 
> Carl sneaked a last glance at the blonde, before skulking away.


End file.
